“What’s gone wrong, Roger?”
“Our packhorse has disappeared in the night; I’ve looked high and low for him, Dick, but it’s no use.”
“Did you hobble him the way we had the other animals fixed?” asked the other lad.
“Yes, but you know he always had a habit of straying farther than either of the riding horses; and the chances are he’s gone so far now that he doesn’t know the way back. What will we do about it, Dick; wait over and spend the best part of a day looking for him; or divide up the stuff, and get on?”
Impatient Roger undoubtedly would be for the latter method of solving the question, if left to his own devices. He was already tired of the slow progress they seemed to have been making in all these weeks they had been on the go.
“Well, in the first place,” began Dick, “we ought to make some sort of a hunt for the packhorse. We’ve managed to keep him with us so far, after some narrow shaves, and it would be a great pity to let him go just because we didn’t want to take the trouble to look him up.”
“But,” objected the other, “he may be miles away from here by now.”
“Very well, Roger; if we find that such is the case we can give the hunt up, and do the next best thing. But let’s start out, and see where his tracks lead.”
“But how are we to know which are the tracks of the led animal, Dick?” queried Roger. “Horses’ hoofs are pretty much the same, seems to me.”
“Well, yes, as a rule that is so,” came the reply, with a confident smile; “but in this case it happens that old Peter had a chip knocked from the outside edge of his off hind hoof, which always left a mark I could tell. I’ve noticed it about a hundred times, and always thought that, if the old stray ever did get away, from us, with the stuff on his back, we could easily follow his trail.”
“It takes you to notice all those things, Dick; and yet I have a good pair of eyes, too,” observed Roger, thoughtfully.
“As good as mine, and perhaps better, Roger; but the trouble is you seldom use them as much as you might. But come, let us start out and see what there is to be found. And look for the track with the outer edge sheared off.”
The two boys had been in camp in a little depression on the bank of the river, which they had reached on the preceding afternoon.
At the time, the day had not been so far advanced but that they could have gone a few miles farther; but as soon as Dick had seen this camping place he had surprised and partly dismayed the eager Roger by expressing a desire to put in the night there.
The reason for this became manifest later on, when he showed his companion unmistakable signs to prove that the expedition they were following had, in fact, tied up there for the night. There were numerous indications to prove this—tracks of white men’s shoes, and the moccasins of the guides and trappers accompanying the soldiers; as well as the hoof prints of the horses.
Of course, when he learned this fact Roger was reconciled to wasting a little of their precious time. He knew that they could discover a variety of things while camping in the same place that those who preceded them had occupied.
And, after a careful examination of the signs, with a remembrance of the fact that quite a heavy rain had fallen two weeks before, which would have washed away any tracks made before its coming, both boys were convinced that the expedition must have camped here after that storm.
This was most important to the boys. It assured them that they had gained remarkably on Captain Lewis and his company, who had had such a long start of them. If the expedition had been here within two weeks, their chances of overtaking it were excellent. Perhaps in another week, or two at least, they might expect to come upon the boats.
That anticipation had made Roger unusually cheerful all through the preceding night. Indeed, he even found difficulty in sleeping, and had been on his feet numerous times after they lay down in their blankets under the shelter of the tent.
And now a new source of trouble had come upon them. Old Peter, the packhorse, had a habit of wandering off; and on several other occasions Roger had been compelled to hunt for him in the morning; but this time he seemed to have disappeared for good.
Of course both lads took their rifles with them when leaving camp. In those early days, when one’s life often depended on prompt action, and also on having the means of defence handy, men and boys never neglected to keep their firearms where they could lay a hand on them at a second’s warning. Even when they slept, Dick and his cousin kept their guns close by, with a protecting arm generally thrown over them, for they looked upon these weapons as their best, indeed only, friends in this wild country.
It took Dick but a minute or two to circle around just outside the camp, and find the track of the broken hoof. Just as he expected, it soon began to edge away from camp. Old Peter was evidently up to his tricks again, and the grass must have seemed sweeter to him the further he could roam away from the spot where the tent had been pitched.
They followed the trail for a few minutes. Then Dick came to a pause, and, screening his eyes with his hand, looked keenly around.
“See any sign of the old rascal?” asked Roger.
“I must say I don’t,” came the answer; “and, to tell the truth, I hardly like the idea of wandering so far away from camp. While we are gone some one might come along and steal everything we own—horses, outfit and all.”
“That would be a tough deal for us, Dick,” remarked the other; “and for one I don’t think it would pay us to take the chance for the sake of such an old horse as Peter. But what shall we do?”
“Go back and get our breakfast,” answered Dick, promptly, as though he had been making up his mind while they hunted for the tracks; “then, if he doesn’t show up, we can load the stuff on both our horses, and start out.”
“But that would be a pretty uncomfortable way of doing, I’d say,” objected Roger, who did not like the thought of riding perched on top of the folded tent, and with all manner of other things around him.
“Oh! I don’t mean to try it long,” the other hastened to reply. “You see, it happens that the trail leads up-river, so we could keep on following it, and not leave our stuff unprotected. Then, if we found Peter, it would be all right; and, on the other hand, if we didn’t, and had to give him up, I’ve a notion we’d better get rid of a few things like the tent, and go on our journey lighter.”
“It is pretty old, for a fact, and clumsy, too. When that Indian brave sold the tent to us, he played a smart trick, for the skins had been exposed so long to sun and rain and wind that they were getting weak. I won’t be sorry to see the old affair kicked out. We’re used to sleeping on the ground, and if it rains we can make a shelter out of branches, or find a hole in the rocks.”
“Perhaps a hollow tree,” added Dick, laughingly, as they turned back toward camp.
“Oh, well, in that case we’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen to be the den of a bear,” observed the other. “Every time I think of that fellow about to drop down on us, it gives me the shivers.”
On reaching the camp they hurried preparations for breakfast. It was always a simple meal, consisting of some meat or fish, cooked over the small fire they had burning, and a dish of tea, of which both boys happened to be very fond. Coffee in those early days was almost an unknown luxury among the Western pioneers along the Missouri.
When they had partaken of this frugal but satisfying meal, the boys started to take down the skin tent which had been the subject of Roger’s remarks. It was an old Indian lodge, and, while the figures of animals and hunting scenes that once decorated its sides were pretty well faded, enough remained to interest the boys from time to time, and cause more or less speculation as to what they were intended to represent.
After they had managed to load all their possessions on the backs of the two riding horses, much to the surprise of the animals, they said good-by to their night’s camp, and once more started off, heading into the northwest, and following the river.
Thus far much of their journey had been over the level plains, although from time to time they had been in the country of hills and forests, as well as rocky sections.
It happened that they were just then in a region where the woods came down to the banks of the river; and in the open places grew the grass upon which the hobbled horses had fed during the night.
Neither of the boys thought to climb into their saddles while following the marked trail of the missing packhorse; indeed, that would have been next door to an impossibility, with all those traps piled high on the animals’ backs. They walked along ahead of the horses, keeping their eyes for the most part on the trail.
“The old sinner, to think that he’d wander all this way from where the others put in the night,” Roger remarked, when they had kept on for almost ten minutes.
“Still, he doesn’t show up ahead, as far as I can see,” Dick observed, “and, if we fail to sight him soon, we’ll have to say good-by to Peter, because he’s beginning to bear away from the river, and we don’t want to spend a whole day looking for a poor old packhorse which we’d soon lose, I reckon, anyway, when we get in the region of the hostile Indians.”
He had hardly said this when he threw up his hand.
“Stop a minute, Roger,” said Dick, bending down, as though he had made a discovery that aroused his deepest interest.
“What have you found—did Peter break his hobble rope? For I notice you have picked up a piece of it, Dick.”
“Look closer, and you will see that it has been cut by something sharp, which I should say must have been a knife,” the other went on, hurriedly, yet with conviction in his voice; “and, Roger, we might as well make up our minds that Peter is gone for good, because here are the imprints of moccasins in the soft earth; an Indian must have run across our packhorse, and carried him off!”
“What a shame!” exclaimed Roger, as soon as he could speak.
“Oh! well, it might have been a lot worse,” remarked Dick.
“You mean that we didn’t care very much for old Peter, after all; is that it, Dick?” demanded the other.
“Yes; and, besides, just think what a mess we would have been in if it had been a party of Indian thieves, and they’d made a clean sweep of all our horses,” was the way Dick consoled himself.
Of course his cousin quickly saw things in the same light, as he generally did after Dick had explained his views.
“How lucky,” he went on, “that we were smart enough to build our little cooking fire last night in that hollow, so it couldn’t have been seen a hundred feet away. Only for that this same horse thief must have found out where we had our camp, and tried for the balance of our horses.”
“Well, how can we blame him for picking up a stray animal that seemed to be wandering around without an owner?” asked Dick. “I heard an old trapper and trader tell Captain Lewis one day, when I was hanging around the camp near the settlement, that he would always have lots of trouble keeping his horses; for that was one thing the Indians coveted. After this, we must not let our two animals wander away.”
“I should say not,” Roger returned, vigorously. “Why, it wouldn’t take an Indian ten seconds to throw a leg over one of our fine horses, and be off like a flash. What would be the use of firing after him, when we’d be just as apt to hit the running animal? No, we’ll simply have to be careful—more than ever, now. To lose a horse would ruin our chances for overtaking the expedition, wouldn’t it, Dick?”
“I’m afraid it would,” replied the other, as he started to take off the huge packages with which each of their animals had been burdened.
“What are we going to do now?” asked Roger.
“The first thing is to look over all this stuff, and see what we can do without.”
As he said this Dick cast aside the Indian tent that made quite a good-sized package of itself, even when carefully folded.
Roger gave it a rueful glance, for he had thought more than a little of that old affair. Then he laughed in his quick, nervous way, and on his own account began to toss things from the back of the other horse.
Whenever he came to something concerning which he seemed to be in doubt, Roger would hold it up, and say:
“What about this, Dick; think we really need it?”
In several cases his cousin was able to decide without any consideration, for the boys had thrust in a number of things that, so far, they had found no need for, and probably might not use at all. Some of these had associations that they hated to break; but it seemed absolutely necessary to reduce the stock they carried. And so Dick would grimly nod his head, and say:
“Throw it aside, Roger; no use talking, it’s got to go. Our horses couldn’t undertake to carry us and all this stuff, too. But I tell you what we might do with it, and take a chance of getting it back some time.”
“You must mean cache it, like the trappers do some of their pelts, when they have more than they can carry, and mean to come back after the rest at some future time; is that it, Dick?”
“Just what I meant,” the other replied. “You see, we can do up the lot inside this old tent, and find a hollow tree to hide it in.”
“Close by the river, you mean, of course,” added Roger, eagerly; for anything like this always appealed to him.
“Yes, so that, when we come down again, we can look for the mark we’ll remember, and which may be a crooked tree bending over the water, or something like that. Then we could come ashore to get the package, if we’re drifting in a boat, as may be the case. Captain Lewis might want to buy our horses, you know, if he has lost a number of his animals through wild beasts, and thieving Indians.”
“But let’s be sure the hole in the tree is a small one,” observed Roger, turning a laughing face on his cousin.
“We will, you can be sure of that,” the other assured him; “because, they tell me that bears are apt to make their dens in some of these hollow trees; and we don’t want our traps to be used for a bed quilt.”
So they sorted all the stuff over; and it was wonderful how little they deemed indispensable. Friends had brought so many things as presents for the adventurous boys, when they learned of the long journey which they projected, that there were numerous duplicates in their outfit, such as frying-pans, kettles and even blankets.
Finally the task was completed, and the tight bundle tied with cords, so that it could be stowed away in some secret hiding-place, when they discovered one that seemed to suit their ideas.
After that the forward march was resumed, though they made certain to keep close to the bank of the river.
Before they left the spot Roger was seen to once more bend over that imprint of a moccasin, as though examining it.
“What new idea has struck you?” asked his cousin, watching him closely.
“You may say it is foolish,” replied the other, “but, do you know, Dick, I was wondering whether this might not have been either François Lascelles, or his son, who had stolen our horse, thinking to cripple us, and in that way keep us from overtaking the expedition of Captain Lewis.”
The suggestion caused Dick to knit his brows, but he quickly shook his head.
“In the first place, while I’ve never met this French trader, still, I’ve heard so much about him that I feel sure he would never have rested content until he had found our camp, so that he could steal all our horses. No, Roger, this was only a wandering Indian, who happened to run across old Peter, and gobbled him up. Look more closely at the footprint, and you will see that it toes in very much. All Indians walk that way, you know. Yes, some white men do, I admit, but the wearing of moccasins never makes them turn their toes in as Indians do. This was a copper-colored fellow, I’d be willing to stake my reputation on that.”
“Oh, well,” remarked the other, giving up, as he usually did after arguing for a short time with Dick, “it doesn’t matter much, anyway. The packhorse is gone, and we’ll never see him again. Shall we start on, now, Dick?”
“We might as well,” replied the leader of the little party, as he climbed into his seat with some difficulty on account of the other burdens loaded on the horse, “and remember that we must keep our eyes on the lookout for some place to hide that package.”
Roger had insisted on loading the “cast-offs” on his horse, while he walked. It was not going to be for long, he asserted, and he could stand it; and so the other had let him have his way, because he knew that Roger was always happy when he could be doing something for others.
They were not long in discovering the very hiding-place they wanted in which to conceal the tent and other things. And, as usual, it was Roger’s keen eyes that caught sight of it.
“Look over there, Dick. How would that suit us?—that tree with the hump on its trunk, I mean; see the hole just above the ground, which, I take it, is large enough to hold all we want to put in it. Then we can stuff stones in afterwards, and block any animal from spreading himself on our property.”
“Yes, and after that we must efface all signs of what we’ve been doing,” declared Dick; “because some Indian might happen to cross our trail and take a notion to follow it a space. When he came up to this place he’d notice that we had done something to that tree, and take a look in. But then, we ought to know how to do that, or else we’re mighty poor hunters.”
They had little difficulty in pushing the bundle into the hollow, and then filling the balance of the cavity with stones; finally removing all traces of the fact that any human being had been close to the marked tree.
After that they found a peculiar tree growing on the river bank, which both noted carefully, so that they believed they would have little or no trouble in recognizing it again, should the chance ever come to them, when returning home. For at that time neither Dick nor Roger dreamed how far afield they were fated to roam before once more seeing the dear ones they had left behind. It was their avowed intention to overtake the expedition, find Jasper Williams, get his signature, duly witnessed, upon the paper; and then start back down the river as fast as horses or current could take them. The young pioneers did not suspect how they would be tempted by circumstances, and possibly continue in the company of those gallant captains, Lewis and Clark, to the end of their long journey toward the distant Pacific.
Once more they were able to move along with something approaching speed, where the buffalo trails through the forest followed the river, as often happened. These animals did not confine themselves to the vast plains altogether, though they were to be found there in great herds; pairs of them, often with young, sometimes frequented woody spots, as though they sought them to be free from the companionship of their kind.
Several times, now, the boys had seen these great animals crashing through the brush to one side. They had not attempted to shoot one, because it was thought best, while in the country of hostile Indians, not to fire their guns if it could be avoided, lest the unusual sound bring trouble upon their heads. At this time the redmen west of the Mississippi had none of the “sticks that spit out fire, and sting,” their weapons being chiefly bows and arrows, spears, and war clubs; though most of them carried rude knives, and tomahawks made out of either stone, copper or some flint-like wood.
Among the things which Roger had insisted on retaining, there happened to be an Indian bow and arrows, which he had traded for a year and more back. By dint of much practice Roger had become quite expert in the use of this stout bow, and could send his feathered shafts with considerable accuracy. At home he had brought down more or less game with his arrows, including a savage hawk that had seized a young chicken, and flown to a tree to devour its prey.
Roger had insisted on fetching this outfit along. He had ventured the prediction that it would come in very handy, some time or other, when they wanted to secure a stock of fresh meat, and disliked using their rifles.
During the balance of the morning they continued to follow the river pretty closely, though at times they had to turn their backs on it, since the buffalo trail they chanced to be following at the time left the vicinity of the Missouri. Both boys were willing to be guided by the instinct of these animals, knowing that in all probability there must be some swampy section of ground ahead, which was thus avoided.
At about noon they halted, and ate, though not going to the trouble of starting a fire; though either of the boys could have made one out of wood so dry and well seasoned that the smoke would not have been seen at any distance away, such had been their forest training.
Then once more they were on the go. The fact that the expedition had passed here only a week or ten days ahead had given them considerable satisfaction, for it told that they were rapidly overtaking those whom they wanted to join.
It had been their intention to keep moving until nearly dusk, when they expected to look for a suitable camping-place and settle down for what they hoped would be a peaceful night.
The sun was quite low in the western heavens when Dick, who happened to be in the advance, drew in his horse, and made a movement with his arm that brought the other to a full stop. Both boys slipped from their saddles, and came together, Roger with alarm written upon his face, until he saw that his companion, while excited, looked rather pleased.
“Then it isn’t Indians?” whispered Roger, laying a hand on the other’s arm.
“No,” came the low reply; “but I just happened to glimpse a little band of elk, feeding in an open glade. And as we haven’t had any fresh meat for three days the idea struck me, Roger, that perhaps this is the chance for you to make use of your Indian bow and arrows!”
“I’d like to do that first-rate,” Roger replied, at the same time passing hastily over to his horse, in order to get the bow, with his quiver of arrows.
“It just happens, luckily,” Dick whispered, having fastened his horse to a tree, “that the wind is in our favor, because we’re to leeward of the elk, and they will not get scent of you creeping up.”
“How about cover?” asked Roger, as, with a hand that trembled a little in spite of his efforts to appear calm, he commenced to bend the stout hickory bow on his knee, and slip the loop of cord over the notched end.
“You’ll have to pick your own as you find it,” came the reply. “I didn’t have a chance to see what it was like; but there ought to be some way to creep close up, so as to get in a shot. I only hope you manage to put an arrow where it will count. Some elk steaks would taste pretty fine, let me tell you, Roger.”
“I’ll do my level best,” was the reply of the archer, as, having arranged the otterskin quiver over his left shoulder, so that he could quickly pull out a second feathered shaft, should it be needed in a hurry, he fitted the one he had retained to the bowstring, and then prepared to advance toward the spot where Dick had noted the feeding elk.
“Easy, now, Roger,” for Dick knew the other’s failings, and many a time had his admonition stilled a tumult in the heart of the nervous lad, causing him to get a grip on himself, and come out of some enterprise with credit.
Roger was a born hunter, at least. Few border lads could creep up on a suspicious quarry more quietly than he. Part of this was an inherited trait; but he had also been much in the company of a young Indian brave who used to visit at the St. Louis settlement before his people went further West; and from him Roger had picked up many valuable points.
He now bent down, and glided noiselessly along until he could see through an opening in the underbrush, when he, too, caught sight of the elk.
The sight thrilled the young hunter, and caused him to shut his teeth hard together as he resolved to do his very best to get in a fatal shot. The fact that he knew his cousin would surely be watching him seemed to lend Roger additional faculties; and when he finally dropped down, and commenced to do his creeping, he was in a mood to excel all previous efforts.
Once in a while, as he “snaked” his way from bush to bush, taking advantage of every possible screen, the lad would lift his head just a little to take an observation. And thus he learned that there were three elk in the band, as far as he could see just then, although others might be lying down where they were hidden from observation.
First there was the buck, a big fellow with a pair of towering antlers that looked particularly dangerous; then there was a cow; and finally a half-grown calf.
It was upon this last that Roger had fastened a covetous eye, for he knew that the meat of both the older animals would very likely prove pretty tough eating, and just then he was after a supply of food, rather than a skin from which to make moccasins, or a new fringed borderman’s jacket.
As his cousin had said, the wind was just where he most wanted it, blowing directly from the feeding animals toward the place where he was edging his way along, foot by foot, careful not to make the least movement that the elk might notice and take the alarm.
Keeping a close watch upon them now, Roger tried to suit his movements to their own; that is, he waited until the three had their heads down while cropping the sweet grass that grew in the glade. At such a time he crept a little closer.
These golden opportunities did not come as frequently as he wished, for it seemed to him as though the elk had some arrangement whereby they took turn-about in keeping a suspicious eye around, one doing this duty while the other two fed. Still, now and then a chance came, of which he was always quick to make use.
Ten, fifteen minutes had passed, and by that time he felt that he was in a position to make a fair shot if it became necessary to do so in a hurry. He figured on trying his skill, even should the elk suddenly take the alarm, and start to run away. Roger had practised long and devotedly at moving targets, and delighted in being able to hit a running animal, just as an Indian, born to the bow, might have done.
Still, he felt that he would like to get a little nearer to the youngster before trying to get in his work. Fresh meat meant a good deal to them just then, since it would fill a long-felt want, and at the same time help to preserve their priceless ammunition. And under these conditions the boy was bound to make as sure of his aim as possible.
With most species of ordinary antelope and deer the young is called a fawn; but even in those days, with so large an animal as an elk, a moose, or a buffalo, it was known as a calf; and so the boys had learned to term it.
Peering out from behind the clump of bushes that served him as his last screen, Roger saw just one more good hiding-place close at hand, if only the chance arose whereby he could reach it.
He did not want to lie flat on his face from now on, and wriggle along like a crawling snake; because while in that position he would not be able to shoot quickly, should the elk take the alarm.
So he meant to wait again until all three of the animals seemed to be engaged in feeding, when he would creep stealthily forward. He could keep his eye fastened on the elk, and if one of them started to raise its head Roger would instantly become as rigid as a stump; and possibly, if the animal noticed him at all, it would take his motionless figure for some such harmless thing.
But fortune was very kind to the young hunter. He managed to gain the new covert without having to halt once; which he considered a lucky thing indeed. And it can be set down as certain that, having held his breath pretty much all the time he was making this critical change of base, Roger heaved a great sigh of relief when he found he had succeeded in his undertaking, and that, so far as he could see, the usually timid elk had not shown the least sign of alarm.
Now would come the test of skill, when he was to gradually raise himself until on his knees, and, taking sure aim, send his keen-pointed arrow straight at the flank of the youngster, fortunately nearer to him than either of the others.
Roger tried to still his rapidly beating heart. Strange how excited he always grew at a time when he needed all the coolness he could summon. Had it been Dick, the chances were that he would be perfectly self-possessed under similar circumstances, and able to do his level best; whereas a fellow who finds himself trembling as with the “buck ague” is placed under a handicap. And yet Roger had brought many a fine deer low with his trusty gun, during all the time that he had ranged the woods and open country in search of game for the family at home.
Having in some measure managed to get control over his nerves, he now prepared to carry out his plans.
First of all it was necessary that the elk be feeding at the same moment, and it seemed to the impatient Roger that one of them was on the lookout all of the time.
But in the end his chance did come; perhaps in less time than he imagined, for Roger was apt to count seconds as minutes when laboring under such a strain.
No sooner had the big buck lowered his head than gradually the form of the hunter arose from the midst of the clump of grass. The sturdy bow was extended, clutched in a hand that no longer trembled, but was as firm as a rock; the other started to draw back the arrow, the notched end of which was fitted on the taut cord.
Roger could have asked for no better chance than the one now presented to him, for by the greatest of good luck the side of the calf was toward him, and its left foreleg advanced, giving him a splendid opening to speed his arrow straight at a vital point behind that same shoulder.
So Roger let fly. The hurtling shaft shot through the sunlight like a thing of life, the eagle feathers with which it was plumed simply showing to a practised eye the direction in which it sped.
There was heard a slight thud as the arrow struck. The calf was seen to start violently, while both the buck and the doe looked up, and jumped several feet.
Then all three started to run off, though it was instantly seen by the young hunter that the calf faltered, and grew weak from the effect of the death-dealing barb that had pierced its side.
Roger had instinctively thrown up his hand and drawn another arrow from his quiver, which he was even then adjusting to his bowstring. He had several reasons for doing this. In the first place his hunter instinct advised him that it was always best to be on the safe side; for there could be no telling but what that savage old buck would get over his fright, and turn to offer battle to the enemy. And in that open place, with not even a friendly tree to offer him refuge from those ugly antlers, Roger had no heart for the job of meeting an enraged beast, capable of doing him serious damage before Dick could come to the rescue with his rifle.
But the young elk had evidently received a fatal wound, for it ran only a dozen yards, when it began to stagger.
Just then, as Roger, having fitted his second arrow, was in the act of taking a swift aim, so as to be ready to make assurance doubly certain, to his astonishment he heard a peculiar twang that sounded like the snap of a bowstring.
And, as he arose to his feet to start forward after the wounded animal, just falling to the ground, he believed that he saw a second arrow sticking from its side.
The first instinct of the hunter is to make sure of his quarry; and so Roger hastened to run forward. He kept a wary eye on the other elk, however, to see that the possessor of those tremendous antlers did not turn back, with the idea of giving battle to the strange enemy on two legs, so different from the four-footed wolves and panthers which he had known in the past.
But somehow this did not come to pass. Either the buck failed to grasp the full nature of the disaster that had befallen his little family; or else, catching a whiff of human foes about that time, fear had dominated valor. At any rate he sped out of sight, with the frightened doe ahead of him—at least the buck was gallant enough to hang back, and protect the rear.
Roger went as fast as he could toward the fallen calf, pleased to know that he had been so successful in his little hunt, and that they would have fresh meat for some time to come.
As he ran he seemed to understand, as though through instinct, that there was some one else pushing ahead on one side of him; but, being in such desperate haste to plant a foot on the fallen game first, he could not even take the time to look.
He heard a distant whoop from Dick, which, however, fell on deaf ears if it was intended as a warning. Roger was an obstinate boy, and, having taken a notion to accomplish a certain thing, he could not be easily discouraged or influenced to give up his design.
There the young elk lay, and in plain sight, so that, rushing up, Roger had no difficulty in placing his right foot on the still quivering body, by that act making it known to whoever disputed his claim that he intended to stand by his rights.
It happened that the animal had fallen so that its wounded side lay uppermost, and one of the first things the young hunter noticed was the fact that there were two arrows deeply imbedded there; his own well-known eagle-feathered shaft, and one that had the token of the gray goose fastened to its end in a peculiar circling manner, calculated to influence its steadiness of flight.
Then, casting his eyes up, Roger saw the figure of his rival—apparently an Indian, though dressed in tanned buckskin after the manner of white hunters, and gripping a bow in his left hand.
The other was staring hard at the boy, as though astounded to find himself face to face with a young paleface, never before known in this particular section.
And there they stood, each with a foot advanced, and a look of defiance on their faces, as though ready to dispute title to the possession of the dead elk.
“Game mine!”
When the dark-faced man in the fringed buckskin said these two words in an angry tone, Roger felt something of a shock. He looked closer, and realized that possibly the other hunter might not be an Indian after all, but one of those half-breeds who sometimes made their homes with the tribes, and again sought the company of the whites, either English or French.
“Oh! is that so?” the boy answered back, in a satirical tone; “well, just prove it to me then, and I’ll throw up my claim.”
He kept his arrow fitted to the bowstring all the time, and aimed directly toward the breast of the other. Should the necessity have arisen he could have sped the shaft like lightning, even at such close range, for it only requires one quick movement of the arm to do this.
The man pointed to the arrow that was just back of the fallen elk’s shoulder.
“Put there—in heart—bring game down every time!” he ejaculated, with the most refreshing impudence imaginable, that made the boy looked amazed, then furious, and finally laugh outright.
“Oh! is that your dodge, then?” he exclaimed. “You claim that as your arrow, do you? Well, suppose you show me another just like it. Every one of mine is tipped with eagle feathers, and made by the son of a chief; while yours are lined with the quills of a wild gray goose. That ought to be proof enough to settle the matter.”
“My elk!” growled the other, with a glitter in his black eyes that boded ill for the boy, should he be caught off his guard.
But Roger knew well that his cousin must by now have unhitched both horses, and be hurrying up, intent on taking a hand in the affair, if necessary. Besides, he was in the habit of looking out for himself in such matters.
There is probably nothing that ever angered a borderer, young or old, more, than to have his right and title to certain game he had shot disputed by a rival claimant, when the evidence was all in favor of the first hunter.
Many a fatal quarrel has been recorded in the history of the frontier through this very same thing, where two men have crept up on their quarry, unknown to each other, and fired at about the same time. Each always rested under the belief that his missile was the one that brought the game down; or, even if this were not so, that he could have sent in a second shot which would have accomplished the end he had in view.
But Roger was a fair and square sort of lad, also generous in the extreme.
He could realize how keenly disappointed any one must be at finding another just ahead when the final test came. It was his design to prove his claim to the young elk, so that none could dispute it; and then offer to divide.
“Listen to me,” he said, trying to speak impressively. “We may have crept up on the game at the same time; but I chanced to shoot first. My arrow struck there, and entered the animal’s heart. That was a fatal wound. The beast had almost come to a full stop, and was staggering, ready to drop, when I heard your bowstring twang. Besides, your arrow entered in the body; and, as it was, without any other hurt, the elk would have run far before dropping. You know that as well as I do. And so it is my game.”
“Ugh! better not try keep elk!” grunted the other, while his fingers were seen to twitch as he gripped his bow; but he had not taken time to fit another arrow after letting loose, and so the white boy had a decided advantage over him, which those restless black eyes had not failed to note.
“Now, I’ll tell you what I’d be willing to do, because I know how hard it is to go through all that work of creeping up, and then lose the game. I’ve proved that my arrow killed the elk; but I’m willing to go halves with you! How does that suit?”
When Roger said this he knew Dick was coming, and that, as he undoubtedly would be holding his rifle ready in his hands, he could make quick use of it should the necessity arise. So that it was certainly not fear that induced him to offer to hand over half of the game to the rival claimant.
But apparently the dark-faced man was not the kind to appreciate such generosity. With him it was a matter of all, or none. He knew well that by rights he had no sort of claim to the game, but hoped to bully the boy into abandoning his just claims.
“My game!” he replied doggedly; “see first, and shoot before same fall. What business you have here in hunting land of Shoshones? If I tell chief, Running Antelope, he soon find, and have scalp hanging in wigwam!”
“Oh! I guess not,” remarked Roger, thinking that it might be best to let this other, who must be friendly with the hostile Indians, believe that he and Dick were only the forerunners of a large party; “for my friends would come up in numbers, and burn the village of Running Antelope, if he so much as injured a hair on my head. But here is my hunter companion; let us see what he says.”
When the half-breed turned his head, and saw what a well-armed fellow Dick was, as well as noted the look on his face, he drew back a step, as though realizing that his absurd claim on the quarry would never have a ghost of a show at making good. If one white boy could not be browbeaten, there was little chance that he could bully a pair of them.
“What’s all this about, Roger?” asked Dick, as he jumped from his horse, rifle in hand, and pressed the weapon of his cousin into the other’s willing hands; for, after all, a gun felt much better than a bow, when there was need for action.
“Settle this matter, Dick,” observed the young hunter, eagerly. “I shot first, and you can see my arrow sticking just back of the shoulder. It must have reached a vital place, for the beast was just staggering, ready to fall, when I heard his bowstring sound—and you can see where he struck. That elk would have run one or two miles with a hurt through the body like this; because we have seen deer do the same. Am I right, Dick?”
“Every word of it is the truth, Roger,” replied the other, quietly, but at the same time positively.
“And,” Roger went on, “you can see whose arrow it is that did the business, Dick; because mine are feathered with eagle plumes, while his all have the gray goose quills fastened on the shaft, circling it so as to give the arrow a whirling motion as it passes through the air.”
“The proof is everything that any honest man would ask to back up your claim,” Dick continued; “but what were you offering to do when I came up? I heard him say that it was his game, and saw him shake his head as if he refused an offer.”
“Why, I didn’t want to be stingy about it, and offered to share and share alike with him,” replied Roger. “That was fair enough, since the whole of the game belongs to me by the law of the woods.”
“I should say it was,” his cousin exclaimed, turning again to the half-breed, who stood there, moodily listening to this talk, and shooting black looks at the pair of white boys.
“And then he started to threaten me, saying that if he carried the news of our being here in the land of the fierce Shoshones to their big chief, Running Antelope, he would come with his braves, and make us prisoners, so that our hair would hang in the lodges of the Indians. That’s a nice way to answer a fellow, Dick, when he makes an offer like that. It was just like a slap in the face.”
“Just so, Roger; and for one I think you ought to take it back, after the way he answered you,” Dick went on, frowning at the dark-faced man. “He says all or none, does he? Very good, let it be none, then. We can use this young elk nicely, and you earned the prize. I never saw a better stalk in my life.”
“And,” remarked Roger, still meaning to impress the half-breed with the idea that they were only the skirmishers of a large party of whites that was advancing up the Missouri, “some of the rest of our friends would be glad of a chance to put their teeth into such tender juicy meat as this, eh, Dick?”
Of course Dick guessed instantly what object his cousin had in making such a queer remark, but he was too wise to say anything to the contrary. In fact he thought so well of the little scheme himself that he smiled, and nodded his head as he remarked:
“Well, I should think they would, Roger; anybody’d like a meal of such tender meat. And now, who may you be? I don’t suppose your name is Lascelles, is it?” and he turned upon the half-breed as he asked this sudden question.
A flash of intelligence, when that name was mentioned, passed over the dark face of the other; but he shook his head in the negative.
“Not Lascelles. Know same though. Name Batiste Dupuy. Trapper, trader, voyageur from the North. Friend of Running Antelope, and the Cheyennes. They give right to hunt, trap all through this country. Paleface boys no business shoot elk. My game! Must have all or none. Ugh!”
If his name was Batiste Dupuy, as he claimed, the half-breed must have lived a good part of his life among the redmen, for he had copied many of their ways. His knowledge of English seemed rather meagre, for he could hardly find suitable means whereby to express himself; for, while he spoke, he made many violent gestures, that were intended to add vigor to his few words.
“Then make up your mind you’re going to have none,” said Roger, now growing angry himself at the arrogance of the fellow. “If you want your arrow, here it is; but not an ounce of the elk meat do you get.”
He jerked the shaft feathered with the quills of the gray goose from its lodging-place in the side of the dead elk, and handed it out toward the other. The man condescended to take it, but immediately broke it across his knee, as though by such violent means he expected them to understand that he intended to be their inveterate foe from that time forth.
“Go! Get out of this!” cried the impetuous Roger, pointing with his quivering finger. “And just remember, Monsieur Dupuy, we have long rifles here, and know how to drive a nail at thirty paces; so that, if you try to do us any harm, it will be at your peril. That is all.”
An Indian might have said, “I have spoken!” but Roger’s way was just as expressive, accompanied as it was by that sweep of the hand.
The man’s eyes narrowed until they seemed to be mere slits, as he glared at the bold young speaker. Then he flung his head in a disdainful gesture, and remarked with a sneer:
“Never before did Batiste Dupuy take orders from a cub. Huh! wait and see who laughs loudest. Mebbe Batiste, his hour will come soon. Lascelles, you said?—it may be I know same; and he much glad to hear of you! Sacre! that is all I say!”
With that he made them a mocking bow, showing that he surely had French blood in his veins, and, whirling on his moccasined heel, strode angrily away.
After going a certain distance he turned and looked toward them, as if measuring the intervening space. Roger even thought he could see him fitting an arrow to his bowstring and at once half raised his rifle threateningly. If Batiste had intended trying a shot at them, he speedily abandoned his idea when he saw how ready they were to send their lead in his direction. He must have known that pioneer boys were quite at home with their long-barreled guns, and could snip off the swaying head of a wild turkey, buried in the earth to its neck, at the annual shoots where the best marksmen came together to compete.
At any rate, he contented himself with shaking his fist in their direction, and then moving away again.
“A good riddance to bad rubbish!” exclaimed Roger, though evidently pleased to see the last of the ruffian.
“And we’d better be getting away from here as soon as we can,” remarked Dick, better able than his impulsive companion to understand what this chance encounter, and the making of an enemy, might mean for them.
“But he knows that François Lascelles, Dick; you heard him say so!” Roger remarked, as he started to fasten his horse, so that they could cut up the game as speedily as possible, and ride away, one of them meanwhile standing guard, so that the half-breed might not sneak up close enough to use his bow on them.
“Yes, I guessed that he might, for they belong to the same class,” the other observed, thoughtfully. “Perhaps Lascelles has bought pelts from this rover, and they may be the best of friends. And, if he knows that the French trader is anywhere around here now, be sure he will try to get word to him as fast as he can, to tell about our coming. And from now on we will have to be on our guard every minute of the day and night, looking for an attack from either the Indians, or the party of the Frenchman. They did not seem to know just how many started out with Lascelles and his son, but it must have been several.”
“And of the same stripe as himself,” remarked Roger, starting to take the skin from the young elk with a skill that had been attained only through long practice. “Remember what our fathers said, Dick; day and night we must keep watch for the silent foe that would crawl up on us unseen, and catch us napping!”